Passion…unbridled

“Let your mind wander in the pure and simple. Be one with the infinite. Let all things take their course. – Chuang Tzu”

One of the lessons that I have been taught

Is the value of focused industry, tinkering is not

For maximal productivity, quite conducive

Giving a hundred percent to your work is the way to live

So when my mind wanders away like an aimless itinerant

I chide myself for lack of focus, I tend to resent

Those who are able to fully attend to the tasks at hand

They are the ones who rule the world, as I understand..

**

So I was intrigued when the concept was introduced to me

That letting your mind wander can boost your productivity-

May be not in tasks that are mundane and repetitive

But a vagrant mind belongs to a person creative

New solutions to problems surface subconsciously

When the mind is allowed to wander aimlessly

**

My mind protested- I am not in a creative profession

In fact, focused practice and dedication make a physician

My hours of the day should be filled with work that is constructive

I cannot idle away my time, surely I have much more to give

To the society by toiling away night and day

I don’t think I should let my mind wander away..

**

This is what I thought, until I realized

The truth staring at me, and it left me surprised

My problem-solving was best in the day

After exercising, since my mind had been wandering away

While the rest of the time I was trying to tame

My roving mind to pay attention, subjecting it to blame

Each time it derailed- while getting my daily exercise

I let my thoughts drift away, turns out I was wise

**

Letting your mind wander is a form of rest to the brain

Rest rejuvenates, as we know, and once again

I was reminded of the value of random thoughts

Without which, my creative space would exist not!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The six-yard wonder” refers to a saree/ sari, the traditional garment of India.

Six yards of fabric draped around me

Six yards of tradition and history

Six yards of connection to my roots

Rebelling against my boring dress and boots

Six yards that make me travel back in time

To the mirror in front of which I would mime

My mother, exuding her kind of confidence

Wearing a saree was the best form of “grown-up” pretense..

Six yards that marked the rite of passage

Of finishing high school, of coming of age

Draped in gauzy silks for the farewell party

Similar to prom, yet as unique as it could be

Snapping photographs in the era before

Instant sharing on social media came to the fore

Six yards of elegance in a muted hue- 

Personality enhancer for my first job interview

Pressed and pinned, perfectly pleated

A business-like look, not often repeated

Six yards of brilliant silks that accompanied

Me on my journey to wedded bliss indeed

In shades of bright red threaded with gold

With henna, jewelry and adornments bold

Captured in still photography and moving reel

Six yards that made me like royalty feel

**

Six yards of resplendent silks lying tucked away

That I found while cleaning my closets one day

Relics of a past that in my life at present

Seemed to have, I admit, limited relevance

No occasion to don those six yards, or flaunt

My Indian roots, yet at that moment my heart did want

Me to drape the fabric, and pretend to be

An Indian diva in all her finery..

**

So, while my husband and child were away

I decided to dress-up and play

With various clever ways to drape

The six-yard wonder, and escape

Into the past, in the land of my origin

Loving the feel of smooth silk against my skin

Of course I was decked up when my family returned

The admiration in my husband’s eyes made me learn

That he liked my ensemble, much more than I had expected

My son was amazed, as the ornate “pallu” he inspected

**

Since then, whenever I want to feel a connection

To my roots, I go through my expanding collection

Of the six-yard wonder, that never fails to put a smile

On my face, I recreate my country in my exile..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She loved words, this was no secret at all

They played in her head, to her they called

Voraciously she read, mostly in a language

She had adopted to be active on a wider stage

 

Well-versed was she in the vagaries

Of English language, loved the imagery

That brought alive in her head tales countless-

Words were magical-she could confess…

**

Words she loved, and longed to write

Yet despite all her insight

Into the world of words printed

She could not conjure a story, instead

She spent her time chronicling reviews

Of books she read, she would choose

With care how she reviewed each one

Yet she felt unfulfilled, this was not fun..

**

One day in a flea market that she frequented

She came across a book, quite nondescript

In her native tongue- it was unusual

To find books in languages regional

In the United States, for who would read

A book with limited readership indeed?

For a quarter, it was an investment quite good

She was its rightful owner, read the book she could

She settled down in her reading nook 

Proceeding, without expectation, to read the book

**

Halfway through the book, she was spellbound

It was a masterpiece all around

A well-spun yarn, though in India based 

The story was universal, it could have been placed

In any corner of the world, it would still resonate

With its readers, this she could confidently state

**

She finished reading, then googled immediately

The author of the book, out of curiosity

Very little existed on her on the web, but she did persist

An idea was forming in her head that she could not resist

What if she translated the author’s work into English?

It would be a way for her to fulfil her wish

While  exposing to a wider platform the regional author-

Yet the first roadblock was how to find her..

**

Consumed with her idea, she traveled back

To India, with some ingenuity she managed to track

The whereabouts of this elusive writer

Then managed to schedule a meeting with her

Turned out she had written much more

Though few read regional literature anymore

The writer was nonchalant about her proposal

At least the idea was not greeted by a refusal

So with her permission she proceeded to translate

The first book, to her it was pre-ordained by fate

**

Words came alive as she continued to translate

Embellishments she added, but did not deviate

From the essence of the story, she was done

In a remarkably short time, THIS was fun!

**

That first translation launched a career

For her in the literary sphere

A renowned translator for her language she became

Her translations brought indigenous writers fame

She still marvels at the serendipitous discovery

At the flea market- that wrote her success story!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are many ways to die

She thought with a sigh-

A swift, painless accident

Or a fulfilled life coming to an end

Or this- the agonizing, slow oozing

Of life from within, the constant cruising

Between crises, trying to find

A respite from your body for the tired mind..

Such was her death sentence, her disease

Sapping at her strength, no prospect of release

The pain, the isolation of a chronic illness

Threatened to turn her into a soul feckless

Giving into her illness, she felt control receding

Life was ebbing away,  slowly bleeding..

Tormented with the question “why me?”

She raged and despaired simultaneously..

**

Her rage spent, a new normal she found

Trying hard to focus on the positives around

Her disease became a part essential

Of her, many things became inconsequential

As she developed for life a new respect

Each day without pain was a blessing, in effect..

**

“There are many ways to live,” she says

“One may live for a purpose, or just while away days

Living with gratitude for being alive and pain-free

Each day, is as good a way of living as can be..

Being able to breathe, being able to see,

Smell, taste, hear- savor everything around me

Is a gift for me, not to be lightly treated-

I remind myself, when I feel defeated

There are many ways to live, and I

Choose to live every day under this sky

 

 

 

 

 

As a mother my greatest fear
Is to pass along to my child dear
Everything that is flawed in me
Twisted genes, bad habits, insecurities…
I wish all that is in me undesirable
Somehow is rendered unable
To be transmitted to him, I wish somehow
For a filter that would only allow
Positive attributes of mine to flow through
While sieving out negativities too..

Alas such a filter exists not in this world
I have to be cautious in deed and word
To prevent my child from imbibing my less attractive traits
I fail to do so often, then myself I berate
For setting wrong examples, being weak
Some form of redemption then I seek
I am hypervigilant often for signs of projection
Of my insecurities on him, he needs protection
From my flawed ways of thinking which have brought me
Anguish and sorrow, quite frankly…

Many a times I am convinced that I
Am the worst patent under the sky
But my son ends up bringing my soul solace
When a positive attitude he displays
Of my internal struggles he is unaware
I am the one he follows everywhere
When he works hard, I am glad to see
At least he has imbibed from me industry
Yet when he displays impatience, it is a reflection
Of his having absorbed my imperfection..

I set the examples, therefore I should
Set good ones, it’s expected from motherhood..

In Zen,  ensō (“circle”) is a circle that is hand-drawn in one or two uninhibited brushstrokes to express a moment when the mind is free to let the body create. The circle may be open or closed. In the former case, the circle is incomplete, allowing for movement and development as well as the perfection of all things. When the circle is closed, it represents perfection, akin to Plato’s perfect form.

I trace with my pen

In one single stroke

Thinking of all the zen

I can soak

The imperfect circle

Open on one side

I await a miracle-

I know I have tried

To achieve perfection

In ways countless

The open circle is a depiction,

I must confess,

Of a life with potential

For continued growth

It is essential

To have hope and patience, both

The enso drawn by me

Is a force creative

A symbol of life in its fluidity

An inspiration for me to live

**

I hope the circle

Will close one day

As I clear every obstacle

In my way

To achieve perfection

That evades me now

Until then the open 

Enso does allow

Me to dream 

Dreams wild, audacious

Dreams that seem

To occupy corners spacious

Of my heart, soul and brain

Dreams borne out of a quest

For perfection, shrouded in pain

Dreams that show me the best

Version of myself that I can be

As I chase them, the enso is open for me…

(Image source:https://www.lennaarty.com/zenart)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the end of an incredibly busy day

When all my energy had been sapped away

I was still left with a gigantic mound

Of work to complete, I looked around

To see if any help I could harness

I found none, and  I confess

That vanquished by exhaustion 

To winds I threw all caution

And proceeded to take the route I had thought

I never would- I had decided to not resort

To cutting corners even in a time crunch

Yet that day, maybe because of missed lunch

I caved in to the temptation strong

Rationalizing that it was not wrong

To take short-cuts once in a while

Soon I was done, and I left with a smile..

**

The easier path is a slope slippery

Once lured, it was difficult to break free

From the temptation to take short-cuts which became

Shorter each time- my conscience at times tried to blame

Me for the increasingly sloppier quality of my work

I ignored its voice, nagging was one of its quirks

**

It is true that more time on hands I did find

By finishing work faster , it relaxed my mind

Therefore my moral compass remained dormant

Though the fear of missing something important did torment

Me from time to time, until one day the inevitable happened

Due to my carelessness, I could not pretend

That the cause was something else, because I knew

I had been getting away with mistakes, it’s true

This time the blunder could have been ugly

It was caught in the nick of time luckily..

Needless to say, I rediscovered my moral compass

I went back to being very meticulous..

*

I have understood  that cutting corners for short-term gain

Is only fraught with eventual misery and pain!

(Image source: http://www.seabird-marine.com)

 

 

 

It is the tenth of January and I 

Even before giving them a good try

Am falling short on my resolutions-

I am already asking for absolution

From the tyranny of this social norm

Whereby all my aspirations take the form

Of New Year’s resolutions, that I

Know are impossible for me under the sky

It seems like a rather smart thing to do

(I counsel my patients similarly too-

Telling them to quit smoking as a new year’s resolution)

A new beginning is supposed to bring new solutions

However since nothing has changed but the date

The new year makes no change to my fate

Two days of sweating out in the gym-

Then the brightness of a workout gets dim

Five days of reading an hour a day

By day six the craving for books has gone away

Writing, meditating, creating works of art

All these activities are dear to my heart

So resolutions centered around them I created

Thinking I could keep them, but I had underestimated

The power of rebellion when the mind finds itself chained

Caged within resolutions, the same activities cause pain..

**

Every year I get frustrated by my inability to keep

My resolutions- so I’ll forget about them and go to sleep!

(Image source: https://happynewyear2014wallpaper.wordpress.com/2013/12/05/funny-pictures-on-new-year-resolution-pics/)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today was a day in January, not unexpected

When a cold front and low pressure intersected

Causing snowfall, goodness gracious, on a weekday..

And even though last night I had continued to pray

To the weather Gods, my worst fears were realized

A snow emergency was declared, and no surprise

All schools were closed, because of safety concerns

One day of missed school does not affect what children learn

So as working parents our woes multiplied

In addition to the morning commute being a difficult ride

Now we were faced with how to arrange childcare

At 6 am- wish I could conjure a baby-sitter in thin air…

Since that was not happening, alternatives were few

Our child would accompany a parent to work too

It took some frantic moments to decide

The best course of action, with some pride

I can say we found a better solution

This conflict saw an early resolution..

But I was left thinking, for the remainder of the day

How weather can play havoc in our lives in this way

Our carefully orchestrated plans fall apart

When the weather Gods throw their darts

There will be more snow days this year, I know

I pray for them to be on a weekend though!

 

 

 

 

This one is for all the women bosses out there!

I am at a superior position, I hope you realize

For that I do not have to apologize

I have spent more years, acquired more grey hair

In this profession compared to you, thus it is fair

That, despite my gender and stature petite

I call the shots, why do you aim to compete

With me, or argue with me at every step of the way

You would not dream of doing that any day

If your superior were a man, I guess

I am disheartened that you cannot process

The fact that your boss can a woman be

This is still a patriarchal society..

I have proved my mettle by working my way

To the top, yet I feel compelled every day

To prove my competence emphatically

 

Only to be labeled automatically

As bossy and difficult to work with-

While I keep trying to tackle the monolith

Of male dominance at positions highest

There are times when I feel the zest

For my profession diminishing, but then I remind

Myself to ignore your behavior of this kind

I know I am capable, I have set my eyes

On the glass ceiling- the ultimate prize

That I aspire towards; your criticism unfair

Cannot deprive me of my rightful share

**

Whether you like it or not, know it is true

In your career you will encounter women bosses too!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She had a story to tell, and for writing, a flair

She conjured up characters in thin air

And wove a yarn in a voice so original

In a format completely nontraditional

That when the first publisher read her manuscript

It would be a success- he did predict

The book was released- he was proved right

She became a celebrity overnight

As millions of copies quickly sold worldwide

She came to take recognition in her stride

Offers of contracts for her second book were many

She signed up quickly, but could not get ideas any

That were intriguing enough to make her spin a story

Expectations were high, and she did worry

About being labeled a one-book wonder

She did not wish to lose her thunder

But, 

Unlike the first time when her creativity had been

Unshackled, untarnished, unseen

This time the weight of expectations was upon her

Considering that, she still did deliver

Another masterpiece, not quite as distinctive

Yet up to readers’ expectations it did live

With that she became an acclaimed author

Expected to produce a book every year..

*

She became adept at churning out tales

Her books still did well, they did not fail

To deliver to her loyal readers what they desired

However she was now getting tired

Of writing similar stuff, her stories were formulaic

The zest was gone, her prose was now prosaic

The critics had moved on, there was plenty of talent around

Lavish praise for her books was no longer to be found

*

She continued to write, uninspired, bound by obligation

To her publishers and readers, despite her reservations

Until one day she read a scathing (but true) criticism

Of her new novel, she was forced to look through that prism

And realized writing had taken the shape of a chore

Her plots were contrived, they were not  interesting anymore

She decided then that she had to take a break

For herself, and for her craft’s sake..

*

Five years  later, after her self-imposed exile

She made an impressive comeback in style

With her masterpiece, the best that she had yet written

Readers and critics alike were smitten

To her, the reason behind this success was clear

She had removed herself from expectations, let go of fear

For the creative process does not work well under duress

An artist needs complete freedom to express..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The well of words has run dry, it appears

I am here facing my biggest fear

The dreaded writer’s block has invaded

Every creative bone, all my ideas have faded

Away from my mind-a reminder on facebook I see

That I have not posted anything on my blog recently

Jolting me into action, forcing me to think

About what to write, ideas do not appear in a blink..

**

So I google “ideas for poems” and try to find

A way to inspire my lethargic, vapid mind

I try the first suggestion and take a glance

Outside my window, and perchance

The view is beautiful, all covered in snow

I try to write about winter, but  ideas do not flow

I try the second prompt on the list, it says-

Start with a quotation and take it your way

So I try to recall all the quotes I know

Search for some too, but unfortunately so

Further inspiration eludes me completely

I keep going down the list, just to see

If inspiration would strike me somewhere

That does not happen, I am in despair

Looks like a new poem is not going to be

Written anytime soon by me..

**
As I struggled, the “eureka” moment came to me 

I decided to describe my writer’s block, you see

The result is there for everyone to appraise

I had the will to write, so I found ways!